


Nothing's Even Wrong

by FriendlyCybird



Series: Important Talks [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Ableist Language, Depression, Gen, Major Depressive Disorder, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Side Effects, Side Effects of Antidepressants, Suicidal Thoughts, references to medication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: Traveling the world with his brother, things couldn't be more right for Stanley Pines.He still felt like shit though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic began as a Vent Fic to deal with my own depression. Stan is remarkably easy to project onto. 
> 
> I reserve the right to up the expected chapter content if this concept speaks to me again.
> 
> Edit: I almost forgot! SUPER special thanks to amigolupus for beta-ing this for me, and providing easily the best line in the whole chapter. Let me know if you can guess which one!

Stan was in his bunk, face pressed into his pillow, wanting to scream but not wanting to disturb his brother. Nothing was actually wrong, and that was the problem. Stans lifelong dream had been realized and he still felt like shit. The cold terror that the other shoe would drop any day now closed on his lungs and made breathing a chore, one he shouldn’t even bother with. He’d saved the world after all, he’d peaked. It had to be all downhill from here. 

Stan could recognize the patterns, even if the thoughts themselves were new. Over the years, he’d worked very hard to develop the tools to get out of these patterns so he could function. He was finding that the tools he had were failing in the face of their greatest challenge yet, actual happiness. Because he didn’t deserve it, did he? He hadn’t earned an ounce of his success, building it all on a stolen name. The very foundation of his whole life was rotted and Stan could only wait for it to come crashing down on him. 

It wouldn’t though. The weight was borne by people who loved him and that thought, once so encouraging as to fill him with real joy, now only wracked him with guilt. They didn’t deserve to be saddled with the weight of his reckless stupidity. He owed it to them, to Ford, to get out of bed and smile and laugh and joke and some days it was easy. More and more lately, it’d been hard. Ford was noticing something wrong and the concern on his face hurt more then anything and it only got harder and harder until finally, today, it was impossible. 

He folded the pillow over his ears like that could block out his own brain and clenched his jaw so hard it ached. A vague temptation to get up, go on deck, and just jump overboard. The thought made him recoil, and that stubborn instinct for survival crawled up and paralyzed him there in bed. Because he’d do it, he’d be so selfish and cause his loved ones that pain because it’d be so easy and he was a coward. Too much of a coward to have done it years ago like he should have, before he pushed Ford through the portal. His good ole tools did their best to point out the contradiction, cowardly to do it now and not to do then, it canceled out into a positive answer, he wasn’t a coward. He relaxed, the impulse passing and leaving him dizzy with relief. Who on earth got dizzy lying down? 

The slight upswing made for great timing when Ford came to check on him. “Stanley? Are you awake?” 

Stan gathered all his energy and sat up and reached for the nightstand, put his glasses on and his dentures in, and promptly felt exhausted from the effort. “Ugh.” he groaned “How late was I up last night?” 

“Actually, you went to bed early.” Ford frowned and there was that concern again and Stan wanted to scream at him. To shake him and yell for him to wipe that look off his face and stop caring so damn much. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Stan dismissed. 

“I’m not sure. You’ve been showing signs of fatigue for days. At first I thought it was just adjusting to a more active lifestyle from a sedentary one, but given that it’s already after nine o’clock, this is starting to seem like more than that. I’d like to do some blood work…” 

“Yeah, no thanks.” Stan interrupted. “I said I’m fine.” 

“Stanley, if you’re sick, I’d rather know now.” Fords tone was gentle, but firm, and there was no escaping talking about this was there? 

“You won’t find anything.” Stan grumbled. 

Ford missed the point. “You don’t know that. We’re getting older, Stanley. This could be anything from a simple vitamin deficiency to…” 

Stan cut his brother off before he could share whatever worst-case scenario that genius brain had dreamed up. “I mean, I know what’s wrong.” 

“Oh.” Ford fell silent, looking at him expectantly.

This was it. He could imagine Ford mocking him, calling him weak and maybe even kicking him out again because who wanted to go adventuring with a crazy? Stan couldn’t parse those thoughts from bad thoughts or painfully real possibility. He went for it. “Major Depressive Disorder.” Ford had no visible reaction. Stan continued. “Diagnosed once in ‘75 and again in ‘83. They put me on some happy pills I didn’t think I’d need anymore.” 

“I don’t understand.” Stan saw that reaction coming. “You’re depressed?” 

Stan heaved a long sigh and answered “Yeah.” 

Ford frowned deeply, and Stan braced for the worst. Instead, Ford actually took the few steps needed to close the distance between himself and Stan, then turned and sat beside him. “Stan, if you have a genuine chemical imbalance, why did you think you wouldn’t need your medication anymore?” 

Stan threw his hands up. “‘Cause there’s nothing to be depressed about anymore! You’re home! We’re sailing the world together! Lifelong dream achieved!” he sighed and slumped. “When we got this boat, I felt great. Better than I ever have. I thought…” he trailed off a moment, then just mumbled “I thought I was better.” 

Ford looked devastated, and Stan felt a new wave of self-loathing crash down on him. “But now you’re experiencing symptoms again?” Stan nodded. “How severe?” 

Stan thought about it a moment. “Not the worst its been. Almost like when I went in the second time.” Ford swallowed and Stan could see a million guilty questions in his eyes. So he set about trying to answer some of them without being asked. “I just couldn’t work up the pizzazz I needed for the tours at first. One thing led to another, and then I stayed in bed for three days. There was this doctor I’d seen for...some other stuff. I went to her, got my pills, and practically forgot about it.” 

Ford breathed a sigh of relief. “But you never tried…” and a whole new wave of guilt came. He must have seen Stans face, because the relief vanished. “Or...or did you?” Stan nodded, bracing to tell the story when suddenly Fords arms were around him. Awkwardly draped from his shoulders, where Ford had pressed his face, breathing as if he were about to cry.

Stan felt tears threatening in his own eyes and fought it down with a joke. “Geez, Sixer. You live with Mabel for almost a month and this is still the best hug you can give?”

The sound Ford made was definitely a laugh, albeit a short and weak one. Stan allowed himself a brief burst of the pride that always came with making his brother laugh these days. “Do you want me to stop?” Ford asked. 

Stans arm went up reflexively, as far as they could go under Fords, and wrapped around Fords back, catching him on the side and all but pinning him into the awkward embrace. The gesture was answer enough, he was sure. Perhaps a bit too clear of one. So he added a dismissive-sounding “Nah, I’m good.” Ford made another sound that might have also been a laugh but was a lot less clear then the first. It could as easily have been a sob. Or something in between. Stan gripped tighter for half a second then relaxed. After a moment he added “It, y’know, helps a bit.” 

They stayed like that for a while. Not more than a minute or two. The exhaustion lifted a little, and the screaming in his head began to die down to ignorable levels. Then Ford whispered “I’m sorry.” and Stan felt something inside him break. 

“Not your fault.” Stan said. “If I’m still depressed that means it was never your fault. Just my brain being broken.” Ford started shaking, and Stan pulled his arm in so his palm rested in the center of Fords back. He patted awkwardly with just his fingers, leaving his palm in place. The angle was too awkward to move his entire hand. “Besides, I feel better now, so I’ll just get up, get some coffee…” Ford squeezed him tighter for a moment and Stan sighed, ignoring the guilt trying to eat his insides. “Listen, Sixer, I told you this so you’d stop worrying about me. I know what’s wrong, and it’s nothing I haven’t gotten through before.” 

Ford took a long shaky breath and pulled away. He wiped his eyes as he got to his feet and Stan felt another stab of guilt. Way to go, moron, you made your brother cry just so he wouldn’t poke you with a few needles. He felt the thought try to escalate and stopped it. “We’re days from the nearest city.” Ford said “and even then I don’t know if we could access your prescription until we go back to Oregon for the winter.” Ford took another deep breath, less shaky now that he was in his element, planning. “I wish I had the resources for research, I might still be able to synthesize…” 

“Stanford.” Stan cut him off again. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” 

Ford nodded, a flash of bitterness crossing his smile before it fully settled. He must have caught on that Stan was bullshitting to comfort him. He seemed to come to terms with that and said “Just...promise me you won’t…” 

“I won’t.” 

In the silence that followed, Stan wished he could track the emotions that played across Fords face. There were plenty of them, that maddenning concern, fear, even anger, and a few moments where his lip twitched in what might be amusement. There was probably more, but the moment passed too quickly and Ford eventually said “I need the words, Stanley.” 

Well that was unexpected. Hypocritical too, given that Ford had seemed unable to say ‘the words’ at all himself, but Stan sighed heavily, close enough to understanding to let it pass. “I promise I’m not gonna try and off myself.” he droned, like being forced to repeat after a teacher. He cracked a smile after he said it. 

Ford relaxed. “Good.” he said. “I do think we should return to Gravity Falls as soon as possible, to get you the help you need.” 

Stan nodded and groaned, tipping sideways and laying back down. “Yeah.” he agreed. Then “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Ford insisted, and Stan had known that but it felt good to hear. “I’ll let you rest today, and call you if I need you. Then tomorrow...we’ll take each day as it comes.” Then he turned and left the cabin. The door shut, and Stan was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Stan slept more that day then he had in any one day or night for decades. He woke again at nearly six PM and got out of bed to head for the kitchen. The sleep had helped, and a few pangs of what was probably more embarrassment then guilt aside, he felt almost good. He was humming to himself as he started chopping potatoes, trying to decide what else to make himself and Ford for dinner. Ford came in before he could. “Feeling better?” 

“Yep.” Stan answered simply. He didn’t want to talk about it so he asked the more pressing question instead. “Hey, whatdaya want for Dinner? I figure potatoes and…” he trailed off to let Ford supply an answer for the second half of their meal. 

Instead Ford said “I wasn’t planning on eating tonight. I still have plenty of my nutrition tablets.” 

Stan didn’t like those things. He didn’t like Ford depending on them. They’d already had one big heart to heart today though, so Stan didn’t say anything about it. Instead he just grumbled “Guess I’m eating potatoes by myself then.” 

“I’ll sit with you.” Ford offered.

“You’re not snagging any of my potatoes. You don’t wanna eat, you don’t get to eat.” it sounded awful to him even as he said it, and he tried to remind himself that Fords stupid pills were actual meal replacements and not just supplements like their earth equivalent. 

“I won’t take your potatoes, Stanley.” Ford said. His tone was one of fond annoyance, and it made Stan smile. 

Cook time on potatoes chopped about this size was usually around twenty minutes. Ford had left an opening for Stan to keep up the banter over his shoulder the entire time. Ford took a seat at their too-small table and set a large book in front of him, flipping to near the back to read. Bothering Ford while he was reading was an age old pastime for Stan, one he was indescribably happy to have back. Ford was a lot more responsive then he’d been in childhood too, better able to split his attention. Stan chose very deliberately not to think about possible reasons for that new skill, and just enjoy it. Or be annoyed by it when Ford started lecturing him about sodium without even looking up after he added salt to the potatoes. Stan cut him off with a definitive “I’m not gonna eat tasteless mush.” 

When Ford responded with just a noise of disagreement instead of pointing out that fried potatoes weren’t mush, a semantic error so big even Stan had noticed it, Stan realized that despite his skill at multitasking Ford was absorbed in the book. Stan was curious. A lot of Ford’s reading lately was speculative research on the anomaly they’d find waiting for them in the arctic. So when Stan finally sat down with his meal he asked “Whatcha reading?” 

Ford closed the book, showing Stan the cover, albeit upside down. It was a neurobiology textbook. “Not my best subject, I’m afraid. If I’m going to synthesize a stopgap until you can get your medication back I need to brush up on some basics.” 

Stan stared blankly at Ford for a long time. Ford took a moment to register surprise, which grew over the several additional moments it took Stan to find words. “You were serious about that?” he asked finally. 

“Of course.” Ford answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You don’t haveta do that for me.” Stan avoided his brothers gaze, turning his attention to his plate and stabbing at his potatoes with a fork.

Ford started to speak, then stopped. Then started again. “I want to.” Ford stood then, and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. Stan frowned. He didn’t know about Ford, but coffee this late would keep Stan up most of the night. What Ford was talking about doing had to be a huge undertaking. It didn’t take much for Stan to put the pieces together.

“You really don’t have to.” Stan repeated quickly. “I...I don’t want you to.” 

Instead of returning to the table, Ford leaned on the counter and sipped deliberately from his coffee. “Was the fatigue your worst symptom?” Ford must have seen the confusion his question caused Stan so he elaborated “It was the most obvious symptom, I assumed it wasn’t the worst though.” 

“Why?” 

Ford considered a moment, then “Because fatigue alone couldn’t stop you.” Stan struggled for a response and, not finding one, turned back to his food. Ford kept drinking and Stans mind took up screaming at him again. He tried to dismiss his self-directed anger with the excuse that Ford would enjoy the project. Long hours on something largely unfamiliar was like a day at the park for Stan’s nerd brother. Of course, Ford destroyed that excuse before it could even take hold. “I’m not taking risks with your health, Stanley.” 

Stan dropped his hand hard on the table. It was much too fragile to slam, so the noise left something to be desired. “Dammit, Ford!” he shouted and Ford startled. “I’m fine! You don’t have to do anything! We don’t even have to go back to Gravity Falls! Just...kick my ass some mornings and I’ll be fine!” 

“Stanley…” and Stan felt anger surge through him at what he could only imagine was pity in Fords voice. Ford seemed to see that, and redirected. “In the portal…” the anger evaporated. Ford never talked about what happened on the other side of the portal. Sure, he’d made strange comparisons to dimensions that were little more than letters and numbers to Stan, and he seemed to have a million inside jokes with himself. He never just talked about it though. “I spent thirty years planning a final assault against Bill.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Stan grumbled, taking another bite.

“I never thought I’d survive.” and sure, on some level Stan had known that. Hearing it though? Having it confirmed? 

He looked at Ford, and that old guilt washed over him. He’d known, of course. The very real chance he’d open the portal and find a corpse had haunted him. He’d just never thought Ford would have accepted that. Ford took a drink of his coffee. Stan took a deep breath. The guilt didn’t fade, so he tried “I’m sorry.” 

Confusion flashed across Fords face, than realization. “No, Stan… I’m saying you saved me.” Ford came back to the table and sat across from Stan again, setting his coffee beside the book. “If you hadn’t opened the portal, I’d be dead. And I may or may not have taken Bill with me. You saved me.” Here ,he leaned forward, forearms on the table, interlocked fingers nearly touching Stans plate. “Now I need you to let me save you.” 

“Ford…” the name came out involuntarily. He wanted to protest. He didn’t need, didn’t deserve saving. Ford didn’t owe him anything. But Ford looked...almost pleading. Pained. He opened his mouth to insist Ford didn’t have to do anything for him. Then he closed it again. Because...why not? Ford wanted to work on this, wanted to save him. Something in him bristled at the claim he needed saving...but it certainly felt enough like drowning to mean maybe he did. “Okay.” 

Ford smiled. “Alright then.” and he took another drink of his coffee. Then Stan returned to his food.


	3. Chapter 3

“You have to be completely honest with me, Stanley.” Ford was lecturing him. Stan wanted to just tune his brother out. Too bad he was hyper-aware of every detail of his surroundings. The salt air, the deck under his feet, the ships wheel under his hands. The old ache across his lower back that was crawling up his spine and his brothers goddamn voice. “Antidepressants can have any number of serious side effects, and the one you’re on for the moment is entirely experimental.” Fords voice took on the weight of guilt as he added “If you hide what you’re experiencing…” 

Stan felt a flash of anger. It was gone nearly as quickly as it came but not before he snapped “Like you know anything about what I’m experiencing.” 

“I’m trying.” Ford insisted, pleadingly.

“You worry too much.” Stan scolded. Why had he never noticed how irritating the thin sheen of sweat covering his body, even in this cold, was? It made him want to strip down a layer or two. There was a chill in the air that insisted that was a bad idea. He focused on that cold, the solidness of the Stan O’War and, of all things, the conversation he was having. “I’m fine, Stanford. I don’t even think we need to go back to Gravity Falls anymore. Let’s turn around again and go check out that anomaly like we came here for.” 

Ford sighed heavily. “Why are you so resistant to help?” 

“Ya already helped, Sixer!” Stan wasn’t angry. Not really. His brain was just buzzing indistinctly and while that was better then the alternative, the way his thoughts were muted and his surroundings amplified left him feeling insignificant. Like there wasn’t enough of him to hold space in the world and he’d implode at the slightest pressure. How the hell was he supposed to explain that? The drive to be even bigger, even louder, all personality and no brain because that was all he had? There was no way. So instead, he tried to reassure. “You already...had your turn at saving me or whatever. So let’s get back to your nerd stuff already, let’s go on an adventure. We’ve been planning this all our lives, we shouldn’t…” he stopped and frowned. That was funny, he didn’t feel bad but his mouth had gotten him close to a familiar self-depreciation all on its own. Well, maybe it wasn’t a bad thought if it was objectively true. “No reason to put that off ‘cause of me.” 

Ford smirked, and Stan hadn’t known someone could smirk sadly but there it was. “Actually, our childhood plans were mostly centered on treasure hunting rather than seeking out anomalies.” Stan huffed. He’d just about started griping about semantics when Ford added “And I have every reason to put it off for you.” 

Ford sounded all soft and serious and Stan was about ready to strangle him. “I already promised I wasn’t gonna off myself, I don’t know what you’re still so worried about.” 

“Do you still want to?” 

“No!” Stan snapped. He was maybe a little angry again. It was strangely hard to tell. “I haven’t wanted to for years!” That wasn’t totally true though, and Stan found himself amending “Not really.” before he could even weigh the lie against Fords comfort. 

“What does that mean?” Ford demanded. “Not really. Stanley…” 

“It doesn’t matter!” because how could Stan explain the smothered impulse that lurked under his skin like an ember that persisted no matter how much dirt you shoveled on top of it? It didn’t matter because there was nothing left for the ember to spark. Whatever that had been was scooped right out by the pills Ford had given him. He was safe. And even if he wasn’t… “I’m depressed, but I still have a survival instinct. I’m not gonna just jump overboard ‘cause my brain says to.” Fords eyes widened and darted to the side of the ship before settling back on Stan, who realized his mistake. “Not that…” he started to backpedal. Then decided against it. “Yeah, Sixer, I’ve thought of it. Not hard to figure out how to die on a boat in the arctic ocean.” For someone who’d just been demanding honesty, Ford didn’t seem to be handling it well. Stan looked pointedly away from Ford, eyes fixed ahead. “But I don’t want to. Sure it seems easier sometimes, better even. But you don’t have to worry about me, Ford. Your mix did the trick, I’m fine.” 

“And you’re not experiencing any negative side effects?” Ford sounded a little more relaxed, the kind of tired Stan recognized from taking stock of things after a crisis. 

“Nope.” Stan replied automatically. He only began to question its truth after he said it. “I feel great.” That was definitely a half-truth. Time to throw out another one of those to satisfy his brothers concern. He looked back at Ford as he added “I mean, the first couple days it made me sick to my stomach, but I got through without puking and now I’m good.” 

Stan saw the rest of the tension go out of Ford, and he relaxed too. Ford cleared his throat before “I’d still like to get you back on your original medication as soon as possible but for now...I’m glad my stopgap is working.” 

Stan shrugged and repeated “I could just keep using this stuff. Cheaper then a doctor and you won’t push me to see a shrink.” 

Ford got quiet again and Stan almost groaned. When would he learn to keep his goddamn mouth shut? “You don’t think you’d benefit…” 

“Finish that sentence, Sixer.” Stan interrupted. “I dare ya.” 

Ford took a deep breath through his nose, then slowly blew it out. “You’re impossible.” he said. 

Stan just grinned, and turned his eyes forward again.


End file.
